It was a nightmare--nothing
less!
"Sh!" and then the waiting was over. Two dark figures, guns ready, stole
from the woods behind White's cabin. Where were the dogs? Why did they
not speak out?--but the dogs were trained to be as silent as the men.
They were all part and parcel of the secret lawlessness of the hills. In
the dim light Truedale watched the shadowy forms enter Jim's unlocked
cabin and presently issue forth, evidently convinced that the prey was
not there--had not been there! Then as stealthy as Indians they made
their way to the other cabin--Truedale's late shelter. They kept to the
bushes and the edge of the woods--they were like creeping animals until
they reached the shack; then, standing erect and close, they went in the
doorway. So near was the hiding place of Truedale and his companion
that they could hear the oaths of the hunters as they became aware that
their quarry had escaped.
"He's been here, all right!" It was Jed Martin who spoke.
"I reckon he's caught on," Peter Greyson drawled, "he's makin' for Jim
White. White ain't more'n fifteen miles back; we can cut him off, Jed,
'fore he reaches safety--the skunk!"
Then the two emerged from the cabin and strode boldly away.
"The others!" whispered Truedale--"will they come?"
"Wait!"
There was a stir--a trampling--but apparently the newcomers did not see
Martin and Greyson.
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